Complicated
by trufflemores
Summary: Flash collapses and Supergirl catches him.


**Author's Notes:** I've never written a fic like this before, with multiple civilian POVs, so I apologize if the transitions are unclear, but any time you see a focus on a new group (e.g. firefighters), it's a new civilian POV. There are two exceptions: one for Supergirl, one for Barry.

Enjoy! Fluffier Superflash coming soon.

P.S. Now I have the Avril Lavigne song stuck in my head. You're welcome. (Original title, 'Tryst,' is being reserved for an actual KaraxBarry fic).

 **EDIT: Haha, I posted a chapter to my other fic ("Trust") instead of this originally. Whoops! Fixed.**

* * *

It's a poorly kept secret that Supergirl and The Flash are in a relationship.

Every reporter wants the first official scoop. Tabloids salivate over hints, but reputable stations like _Cat Co._ demand proof. For any writer, it's frustrating to be so tantalizingly close to a breakthrough but unable to publish it. People would eat up a superhero romance, but James Olsen insists that the story stays off-the-record until either Supergirl or Flash makes a move more definitive than _proximity_.

No one can deny the record: Flash clearly loves to visit National City. Eight years since his arrival, his appearances maintain periodicity. Supergirl and Flash are seen together often enough that a dynamic emerges: Supergirl is the captain, The Flash her right-hand man, backing her up in duels as often as she drags him out of them. They're clearly partners. Something more? Patience, counsels James, with the hint of a smile.

It's a torturous exercise. From the sidelines, non-supers can only watch as the twin heroes eat ice cream, fight crime, and make countless public appearances _together_. They laugh at each other's jokes and defend each other's honor, even on camera. Flushed with endorphins, they kiss each other on the cheek, a genteel, forgivable gesture; no one has ever caught a picture, but it's such a prolific firsthand story that it's well-known it _happens_. They hug and high-five each other and others freely. They're clearly cozy with the public, but it's difficult to deny that they're cozy with _each other,_ too.

Some news outlets exercise no restraint, feeding every new tidbit to the gossip mill and producing pounds of addictive bytes. It keeps their sales high, their readers happy, and public speculation in the air. The are-they-aren't-they back-and-forth is a cup-of-coffee conversation brought to the forefront whenever Supergirl and Flash make an appearance. Admittedly, it's almost more fun to speculate than it is to answer the question, like a particularly challenging crossword puzzle. The longer it carries on, the more intriguing the answer becomes.

Without reprieve, anticipation sours to exasperation. Some reporters drop the case altogether; others carry on with their _Superflash_ speculation in private. Still others stray from the pack and insist it's nothing more than a close friendship. After all this time, it seems heinous to suggest that the star-crossed lovers of National City are nothing more than friends.

One gorgeous April day, where the sky is high and blue, the crowds are mild, the stories mundane, a red streak appears and offers an answer.

It's clear to onlookers that The Flash is in trouble; the sidewalk around him is spray-painted with blood, red as his suit. He collapses amid a crowd, reaching blindly for his own hip. His fingers shy back before making contact, his attention unfocused as pedestrians press inward. A couple of cops force their way from the periphery to the center of the chaos, assisting the shaking Flash to his feet.

They get him to a cruiser, radioing their superiors. St. John's isn't far, but even with the siren blasting, traffic budges awkwardly. Flash has no detectible pulse, but he's awake – barely – and breathing, which is enough for the two officers to know he's alive. The officer at the wheel growls impatient curses at every delay; the officer in the backseat holds Flash steady, steady, praying under his breath.

They curb the cruiser at St. John's in eight minutes and forty-two seconds and a team of medical personnel swarm the car. The team lifts an unresponsive Flash out of the backseat, strapping him to a gurney and wheeling him into the emergency room. The cops follow, but they stop at the receptionists' desk, offering statements, out-of-their-depth amid the medical melee.

One person isn't, and she sweeps into the waiting room, her swirling cape red, her eyes burning blue. "I need to see him," she says, heart and heartache in her voice, a mixture of concern and certainty in her set-back shoulders and rigid stance. The receptionists don't resist, paging the door open. There's an eerie lack of resistance to the entire affair, like they know it's as bad as it looks and don't dare halt her from saying goodbye.

The Flash may be the fastest man alive, but Supergirl's speed brings the chaos behind the doors to a standstill. She skirts the techies hooking Flash up to an IV, pumping on his chest, trying to save his life. He's coding, for real this time, and she knows the shock will kill him as surely as the blood loss at this rate.

Seeing through suit and blood and skin, she reels, caught off guard by the pelvic fracture. It's partially crushed, as if he'd fallen on it from an unfathomable height, or been plowed into a wall by a train. She can only see the bones, but she knows he's bleeding out internally; the team can't stop his too-fast heartbeat from pumping every ounce of blood from the impact site.

They can mitigate it, attested by the frozen physicians linking a bag of donor blood up to his IV. At some point, they must have nicked his finger to determine his blood type. It worries Supergirl that they know, but they haven't unmasked him – haven't had _time_ to – and she acts before they can.

In their later accounts, the physicians on hand will recall the breeze, rushing through the ward and sweeping past them, leaving only an empty gurney behind. They'll piece together the story, a devastating and surely fatal injury taken out of their hands as Supergirl spirits The Flash away.

Unbeknownst to them, she takes him to the one and only place where he stands a chance: the DEO.

It only takes her four seconds to cross twelve miles.

When Supergirl skis into view, the tech crew on hand rear back in surprise. They regroup quickly, tailing her to the med bay. Flash is deathly cold, and new recruits falter as they fetch items for more experienced members. The smell of blood is overwhelming, sticking to Flash's suit. Their own private blood bank suffers an unprecedented depletion as they fight to counteract the losses, working as fast as they can.

They buy time with a stasis-inducing cold injection. Flash's heart rate slows to a chilling th-thump, th … thump, _th … … … thump_. After a minute, his heart rate is virtually undetectable. They know from their work with Superman that in the cold state, he won't feel a thing. The knowledge frees them up to do their work without fears of losing him to shock.

Keeping him cool without killing him becomes half the crew's priority, the remaining half working at a blistering pace to make up for lost time. It's a risky thing to freeze someone, but they don't have any alternatives. For his part, Flash is cooperative: he sinks under and stays there, his lightning failing to unfreeze him.

Supergirl cuts away the suit and they get to work, setting bones, draining blood from cavities it doesn't belong in, and closing open wounds wherever they find them. His right foot almost comes off with his boot, a rookie losing his lunch to a trash bin as Supergirl eases the mangled limb from its hold. They cut him off the stasis drug just shy of completion, afraid of irreversible coagulation setting in. It only takes thirty seconds for Flash's heart rate to skyrocket, his stress levels through the roof as consciousness and a bucket of pain douses him.

He jerks upright, startling everyone, and almost Flashes out of view before Supergirl catches him, hands on his shoulders and voice steady. "You're okay," she says, holding him upright. "You're okay." He flinches with every stitch and pinprick, turning towards the source each time until Supergirl cups his face in a hand and directs his gaze to her own. "Don't look," she tells him, pressing her forehead against his. His eyelids slide obediently shut.

They stay like that until Flash's tremors cease, exhaustion and relief taking over. J'onn J'onnz walks in and dismisses most of the crew, not out-of-sight but out-of-mind, all the same. He steps forward and says, "Good to see you, Flash."

"You, too, J'onn," Flash husks, accepting the DEO-issued pajamas. They're plenty roomy, his tiny whimpers of discomfort muffled against Supergirl's shoulder as she helps him get his legs into them. The shirt goes on and the room exhales, the bloodied remains of the warzone still spattered against the table and floor. "Sorry," he adds succinctly, waving a hand limply at the mess.

"Gotta keep these kids out of trouble somehow," J'onn says, nodding at the crew. "Gives 'em something to do."

It's a well-known secret that Flash is human, but it's still humbling to see him unmasked, the bruises on his face black but healing already. The crew take reverent turns getting close enough to shake his good hand (dismissing the memory of the crooked fingers on his other to the best of their ability), offering admiration and accepting thanks in equal measure. Some members, it's known, still barely known the man associated with the red suit, preferring to think of him as Flash and Flash alone in the event of an untimely – termination.

Supergirl doesn't share their fear of closeness, never far from Flash's side, propping him up with an arm around his back. She leans in to whisper something into his ear and he mumbles a response. When she insists, he caves with a nod. They've all seen Supergirl in action, but the effortlessness as she lifts a man fully twenty pounds heavier than her earthly weight awes. No one approaches or offers or interferes, asks or demands or infringes. They wouldn't get far if they tried.

They stand aside, letting her walk past them, and they know she isn't human but somehow think of Kara Zor-El as approaching it more than Flash does. Maybe because they've known her longer, reason the vets. Perhaps because they understand her better, or spend more time with her. Whatever the reason, they can think of her on a first-name basis, just as J'onn does, and Flash as only Flash, forever and always masked in some way.

. o .

When a day passes without word from either of them, rumors grow.

Tabloids are eager to stand on the edge and scan the void for answers. Supergirl's disappearance isn't unexpected, but considering the public display, her absence chafes against expectation. She's usually quick to reassure them that everything is fine; the lack of Supergirl sightings sends a somber message throughout National City.

Almost thirty hours after the event, Supergirl reappears, stopping an armed robbery at a local bank.

Flash is nowhere to be found, and she doesn't linger long enough to be confronted about it, but her reappearance smooths down ruffled feathers. _Cat Co._ goes ahead and launches its first full-length story on the issue: _SUPERGIRL RETURNS, THE FLASH MIA._ With painstaking precision, the editors omit any hint of a romance between them.

 _We're a serious paper,_ James Olsen insists. _We don't report what isn't there._

It's there, but when James Olsen decides something, he's rarely overruled. They dutifully transcribe the case with clinical detachment, focusing on what they know – testimonies from cops, eyewitnesses, and medical personnel – to describe Flash's unknown condition. Letters to the editor pour in the next day, requesting more information, asking for a reassurance that Flash is alive.

By six PM the next day, James Olsen agrees to pull some strings. Everyone knows what he means — _Let me talk to Supergirl —_ but no one names it. They don't need to. It's well-known that James Olsen pulls favor with the big guy, too, enjoying a favorable relationship with two of the Gem Cities' most beloved heroes.

In response, Flash makes his first appearance just after sunrise the next day. He encounters only a handful of pedestrians outside of the coffee shop, letting them approach and even take a couple pictures with him, Supergirl at his side. The fortunate few record the encounter and post it online, letting others judge the painfully awkward hesitation in Flash's step, a pronounced limp slowing him down.

He disappears for days, but Supergirl stays on guard. If criminals thought she'd take time off with her partner out of commission, they're sorely mistaken. She puts down threats with her usual rigor, in her element and on home turf. She avoids questions about Flash's condition except for one mantra: _He's healing_. Other than subdued, by all accounts she's her usual pleasant self.

A week after he arrived dying in the streets, The Flash limps back into view. He's more subdued than they remember him, shying from contact, but even the tentative truce is a relief. Supergirl stays close to his side, fielding questions, and together they share a moment of reprieve on a rooftop with a cup of coffee and an unheard conversation. If Flash stays seated, Supergirl doesn't comment on it.

Things go back to normal – or they would, if Flash caught the kid that jumped up for a hug instead of Supergirl and had his radiant smile for them instead of a quiet, cordial frown. The days of overtly affectionate gestures disappear overnight, leaving only a painful longing in its place. To the kids who once worshipped The Flash, their beaten-down hero fails to stand as tall as he did before.

It's almost a month before a test arrives: a massive fire breaks out at a warehouse and an occupied Supergirl cannot take the lead.

Flash gets everyone out – it's his style, a relentless, go-back-in attitude that singes the shoulders of his suit and burns through the soles of his heels. Firefighters douse the flames and take over once he gets the trapped residents outside, offering medical assistance and keeping a perimeter. Reporters crowd in, eager to find the story, and pedestrians watch as the building consumes itself.

When the last woman steps down from Flash's arms, the building creaks almightily, and a blaze of something brilliant Flashes through their midst as blue lightning crackles through the air. No one even recalls The Flash taking off, watching instead as he skids to a halt outside again, holding two firemen by the backs of their necks as the walls come crumbling down behind them.

"Thanks, Flash," one of the fighters says, clasping his shoulder. The grasp becomes an offered arm, slipping around his back and supporting him when he shakes. Flash nods in acknowledgment, but he's clearly at his uppermost limits, struggling to stay standing. The fighter's partner gets his arm on Flash's other side and together they haul the exhausted hero from the edge of the inferno.

They get him on a gurney and strap an oxygen mask over his face, a broad arm lassoing him to a fighter's side and shielding him from the prying public eye. He closes his eyes and sucks in oxygen, lurching when he feels a hand on the mask but relaxing when he sees who it belongs to, Supergirl's eyes soft, almost glowing blue, as she cups his face.

The fighter releases him. She presses their foreheads together, holding on like that as he breathes in slowly, tension visibly relaxing from his shoulders. _Thank God, you're okay_ , she says without ever saying it, getting an arm under his shoulder and spiriting him away.

Hours later, The Flash limps into the NCPD. On duty officers pause, looking up and watching him. He moves with sedate authority to the captain's room, walking slowly enough for them to see, for anyone to stop. Officers in passing offer a hand to shake; he clasps it warmly, it's said later, and has a firm grip. They ask him how he's doing; " _Well_ ," he replies in that familiarly metallic warble.

Someone asks, "What happened?"

He ignores it, tapping on Captain Julian Albert's door. " _Captain?_ "

"About time, Flash," Albert says, a smile breaking through his seemingly unflappable demeanor. "I thought you'd left us for good."

" _National City is my home,_ " Flash answers, " _I could never leave it for good._ "

"That's good to hear," Albert permits, holding the door open. "Care for a cup of coffee? I could have one of the boys bring one right up."

" _I don't drink caffeine much these days,_ " Flash admits.

"Very well; just one for me," Albert instructs, an intern scurrying off to fulfill the request. "Come inside, please. We have a lot to discuss."

They disappear behind the closed door. The subtler eavesdroppers linger in the vicinity, hoping for a second glimpse; the less subtle approach the door as if to make a request, any excuse to enter the room, before falling back. They can watch the body language through the glass window, a partial reveal, Flash's vivid red suit standing out. They both take a seat, but no one misses how gingerly Flash sinks into his chair. Still hurting.

It's been four weeks since the incident, they reflect. Doesn't Flash have Speed healing?

Flash leans forward to speak with Albert, and Albert's notoriously good at keeping a poker face, but even he lets an eyebrow twitch upward in surprise. His gaze shifts to the window through which the onlookers peer and he excuses himself for a moment, reaching out to twitch the screen over it, and that's the last anyone sees of them for a while.

The coffee arrives. Senior officers pin down the intern after his delivery. _What are they talking about?_

Bewilderingly, the intern says, "Chess."

When Flash emerges, maybe five minutes, maybe an hour later, Albert looks surprised but shakes Flash's hand with the usual warmth. "Be seeing you, Flash," he says with feigned robustness.

Flash holds his hand for a moment longer and the apology is almost painful, but he keeps his shoulders back. " _Goodbye, Captain._ "

He vanishes without a trace, leaving only a bewildered crowd of officers in his wake.

. o .

The Flash is leaving.

It's a rumor that grows as Flash makes dozens of appearances around town over the next twenty-four hours, running on empty by the time he stops early-evening at _Cat Co._

James Olsen shakes his hand and says, "Hey, Flash."

Flash smiles faintly. " _Hey, James._ "

"Heading out of town?" James asks, addressing the baggage in Flash's shoulders.

Flash bows his head.

It's clear the gesture is meant to be public. The encounter is held in the open room that comprises the top level of _Cat Co_. No walls separate them from their audience _._ Anyone feigning interest in their work ceases to do so, watching them.

James looks at Flash and nods. "Gonna miss you," he admits.

Flash meets his gaze and makes a final request. " _Look after them. Please._ "

"Always," James says, brow furrowed like Flash needn't ask. And anyone who works for him knows it: James Olsen protects his own. But there's an all-encompassing nature to the request that stands out, that says, _I need you to take over_. The expectation is too great for any ordinary person, but James has never seemed entirely ordinary.

Flash disappears.

James clocks out.

. o .

Only a handful witness the heartfelt goodbye between Flash and his direct collaborators.

Winn Schott hugs Flash for fully five minutes and tells him to be careful because Supergirl can't keep him out of trouble where he's going, and Flash smiles against Winn's shoulder and tells him, _Always._

Alex Danvers hugs him more briefly but equally intensely, telling him to be safe, be strong, and keep his family close, and Flash requests the same.

J'onn J'onnz relents and accepts a hug, telling him that he'll always be the new kid in their town, a declaration that makes a thirty-five-year-old Flash smile. James Olsen sends him off with a proper farewell hug and admonition to hold onto what makes him a hero. Even Maggie Sawyer finds room to hug the hero, letting him know that he'll be missed.

At last, Supergirl steps forward, and even amid their small audience a hush seems to fall.

Then they disappear.

They reappear miles away, standing in the same open field where they met. Flash reaches up and eases the cowl off his face, looking at Supergirl with fresh eyes. "Thank you for saving my life," he tells her.

"Any time," Kara Zor-El responds, sincerity and sadness in her gaze as she steps forward for one last hug. "I'll miss you," she tells him.

"I'll miss you, too," Barry Allen replies, holding on as tight as he dares, the chronic ache in his hip an aside, not a focus. "I'll try to come back," he says, but there's a suggestion that that time is _never._

Kara nods, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Go," she says, giving him a gentle push. "I'm sure Iris is worried sick about you."

"I've been away too long," Barry agrees, stepping back. "I'm going to give Joe an aneurysm one of these days."

"J'onn, too," Kara adds, looking out across the field with him. "He's fonder of you than he'd freely admit."

"So is National City," Barry muses. "I've overstayed; they like me."

"They love you."

Barry ducks his head, acknowledging the relationships he's leaving behind, not just with Kara and her team but with her _city_. "Will you and James ever go public?"

She holds up her hand, the mark from her recently removed ring finger still faintly visible. "I believe we already _have_."

"You know what I mean."

Kara smiles. "Eventually. But you're still my favorite tryst," she says, startling a giggle out of him. "James is pretty sure he's driving a handful of writers to an early grave by keeping it under wraps, but it's better for both of us. We don't have much privacy in our lives as it is."

"They'll think it's a tragedy," Barry says, "me leaving you."

"It is," Kara tells him, running a hand down his arm. "I'm glad we got to spend as much time together as we did."

"Me too."

Kara squeezes his hand and lets him go. "Ready, Flash?"

Barry replaces the cowl and exhales, taking a step – still a limp, he reflects grimly, but Speed Force will compensate for that. "Ready as I can be," he replies.

. o .

After a month-long absence, Central City welcomes back its Flash.

They're eager to write stories about him, speculating about the reason for the limp, the absence, everything. They have no idea where he was (just as almost no one from National City knows where he _is_ ), but they're clearly, unapologetically happy to have him back.

Iris West-Allen is happy to see him, too, but it's the unmasked version that she missed most.

And if leading two lives means he gets to come home to her, Barry Allen is a lucky guy.

. o .

Four years later, long after the name has faded from the headlines, a red streak Flashes across the streets of National City.

Heels still smoking, Flash halts at the edge of town.

Within seconds, Supergirl lands and hugs him, the first to welcome back National City's favorite speedster.


End file.
